It Could Have Been
by Runi-chan
Summary: We all know what happened to the Stoor that once was Smeagol. But could it be that the Ring only grasped a broken and empty heart? Rated for dark themes. Finished
1. Birth And Death

Yet another Lord Of The Rings fanfic. This, I confess, is not one of my more orignal ideas. It comes from the musing of wondering what Sméagol's life was like before the Ring. (forgive if the names are not correct; I don't have the books to check with at the current moment)  
  
Enjoy, and remember, I own nothing!  
  
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Title:  
  
Author:  
  
Chapter One: Birth And Death  
  
Rating: R, for dark themes (just to be safe)  
  
*Standard Disclaimer Applies*  
  
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"And what are you namin' him, miss?" the midwife asked as she passed the hobbit-like child to a mother damp and exhausted from childbirth.  
  
"Sméagol"  
  
The midwife swaddled the child in soft blankets, placing him into his mother's arm. A yawn stretched his small features, and he ceased crying, blinking large blue eyes out at the world. The mother smiled softly before she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.  
  
The midwife, named Romula, sighed contentedly, grabbing a cloth to wipe the mother's forehead, which was surprisingly hot to the touch. Romula frowned; the woman had been running an unusually high fever, even for child birth. The father of the child worried that she might pass; however, no such thing would occur, Romula had assured him.  
  
The child was still awake in its mother's arms when Romula picked him up. As she carried the newborn over to a waiting crib, it tilted its head, as if questioning. Romula smiled.  
  
"Don't you worry. She'll be fine"  
  
-*-  
  
The 'hobbits' that lived in this area were called River folk by those who lived in the Shire, a ways down the road. Traders came to visit frequently, and the town made its living as a trading post.  
  
Sméagol's father was well off in the world, not so much wealthy as he was prominent. He visited the child the day of its birth.  
  
A soft smile graced the hobbit's face,and one hand lovingly stroked the child's small cheek.  
  
"You be careful in this world,my boy, 'cause there's things out there that'd tear you apart if you give 'em the chance"  
  
The baby yawned and looked up at his father. The Stoor smiled.  
  
"You'll remember it"  
  
-*-  
  
A full month later, family started to come by to visit, bringing gifts for the new mother. The father's sister was the first to arrive, carrying a child of her own, not a month older than Sméagol. That child squirmed in its mother's arms, eager to be free. The mother only chuckled.  
  
"Lanai, he's absolutely adorable" the sister-in-law spoke, shifting the child's weight from arm to arm. Lanai looked at Sméagol with a weary smile; she'd stayed sick after Sméagol's birth.  
  
"He is. And so is little Deagol"  
  
Said child turned his small head as far as it would go, and Lanai laughed, which turned into a coughing fit.  
  
"Oh, don't be stressin' yourself for me, Lanai."  
  
"Really, its fine"  
  
-*-  
  
Years passed, and Sméagol reached the age of two. His ways were mischevious and adventerous, and his mother did not encourage them, but she did not reprimand him for it either.  
  
This day found the young Sméagol on the banks of a nearby lake, hands nimbly sorting through various pebbles on the beach and finding the smoothest, roundest ones. He then placed them together on an area farther up, on the grass, building a small wall with the pebbles and sand.  
  
In the midst of this several hours were passed, in almost silence. Sméagol liked it that way, only the sounds of the birds and his occasional humming.  
  
"Sméagol! Sméagol! Come quick!"  
  
The voice caused the tot to sit up, looking over the crest of the hill. A woman was running, the front of her dress pulled up slightly so she didn't trip. Her expression was that of panic, one that did not leave her face as she found the young child.  
  
"Wha' 'tis it?"  
  
"Your mother"  
  
Sméagol scrambled to stand, running towards the woman.  
  
"Wha'? Wha' wrong with Ma?" he was on the verge of crying. The woman swept him up into her arms and started running.  
  
-*-  
  
Lanai was pale as birch bark, and her forehead was soaked in sweat. Her eyelids fluttered open when she heard her child's voice.  
  
"Mama? Mama, what's wrong Mama?"  
  
Lanai's smile was weak.  
  
"You must forgive me for not being here" she whispered. Sméagol watched in horror as his mother's face went calm.  
  
"Mama? Mama? Wake up, mama! Wake up!" he clambered onto the bed, shaking his mother's shoulders.  
  
"Wake up!" tears streamed down his cheeks, "Mama!"  
  
He then started to sob, a heartwrenching sound that brought all present to the verge of tears. Sméagol's father leaned over and pulled his son off the bed, tears strangely absent from his own eyes.  
  
"Come on, I've got to take you to your grandmother's. You need someone to watch out for you" he spoke, his voice cold.  
  
Sméagol tried desperately to hold onto his mother, fingers clutching tightly to her arm. His father pried them away and carried him out the door. Perhaps if Lanai could have seen this, she would have wept herself as the cry of her child echoed through the village.  
  
"Mama!"  
  
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Nellas' Blurb: Hm...I wonder why his father doesn't care... So, O cherished reader, what did you think? Is it loyal to Tolkien? Is it not? Will you flame me if such is true? 


	2. Adjusting

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Title:It Could Have Been  
  
Author:Nellas Seregon  
  
Chapter Two: Adjusting  
  
Rating: R, for dark themes (just to be safe)  
  
*Standard Disclaimer Applies*  
  
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Sméagol kicked and screamed, bit, did anything he could to make his father release his tight grip, but found no success. His father, Keron, stared ahead to his mother-in-law's home.  
  
The old river-kin opened her door, glaring icily at Keron. Sméagol still struggled in his father's arms, tears still marking a path down his soiled face. The old woman took the crying child from Keron's arms.  
  
"She's dead, then" she spoke. Keron nodded.  
  
"I really don't care for him, but someone needs to take care of him, Iris"  
  
The old woman held Sméagol close.  
  
"You're a bastard, Keron. You didn't even love my daughter; you just married her for her beauty"  
  
"So?"  
  
Iris stepped back inside and shut the door.  
  
Sméagol looked up, sniffling.  
  
"Why is I stayin' here, Memaw?"  
  
Iris smiled softly.  
  
" 'Cause your poppa doesn't care"  
  
-*-  
  
A while later, after Sméagol had turned three, Keron's sister visited, bringing along her son Déagol. Iris welcomed her estranged son-in-law's sister, and they sat down for tea while the boys played. "How's life been with a young one again, Iris?"  
  
Iris laughed.  
  
"Oh, the same as it ever was, Rosemary. I tell you, though, I'm glad his father ain't around; I don't trust 'im"  
  
Rosemary nodded.  
  
"I know what you mean. He's not trustworthy. I'm family, and we all say that"  
  
" 'Tis a shame, 'tis a shame. And ta think, his son's so smart for his age" Iris replied, looking out the window.  
  
"I can't bear to think of what'd happen to me an' Déagol if his father left"  
  
"But your man'll stick by ya. Lanai wasn't that lucky."  
  
Rosemary returned often, but was not able to bring Déagol with her for one reason or another until both Sméagol and Déagol were five.  
  
-*-  
  
Sméagol sat by the river, dipping his feet in the water. The currents of the Anduin flowed strong, and if one was not careful, they could be pulled in. The boy's fingers dug in between the rocks next to him, sorting through to find the best ones for skipping, something his mother had shown him how to do.  
  
"Hi"  
  
Sméagol turned around to find a boy who looked about his age, and turned away.  
  
"What do you want?" he spoke, throwing a stone. The boy scrambled and sat next to him.  
  
"Well, nothin'. I jus' wanted to say hi. My name's Déagol"  
  
Sméagol looked up for just a moment.  
  
"Mine's Sméagol"  
  
There was silence for a moment, and the rushing current and the sounds of the birds among the branches of the trees filled the air. Sméagol skipped another rock across the pond. Déagol cocked his head.  
  
" How'd you do that?"  
  
This time, Sméagol looked up. He gave Déagol a confused look.  
  
"Do what?"  
  
Déagol leaned down and picked up a rock.  
  
"Make the rock jump across the top of the water. How'd you do that?"  
  
"Oh, well, you pick a smooth, round stone, like this, " he leant over and picked up a stone, "and throw it across like this"  
  
He did so, and Déagol watched with rapt attention.  
  
"That easy?"  
  
"That easy."  
  
Déagol attempted to repeat what his second cousin had shown him, but failed. He looked frustrated, but Sméagol only gave a small smile.  
  
"No, you do it like this," he spoke, positioning his second cousin's hands as they were supposed to be, "and then just snap your wrist"  
  
Déagol did so, and cheered when the rock skipped four times across the water. Sméagol smiled and headed back for his grandmother's house.  
  
"Where're you goin'?" Déagol called. Sméagol turned around.  
  
"Home. I'm hungry"  
  
Déagol scrambled up from the shore and followed his cousin, who halted at a grove of trees. Sméagol climbed them nimbly, and stole a few bird eggs from the nest. Déagol inquired as to their use.  
  
"Memaw fixes 'em up the eggs real good, with seasonin's and all. We don't gots birds for eggs like those Shire-folk do, so I gots to take 'em from the birds.  
  
"Oh. Well, I'm hungry." Déagol spoke, breaking into a run. Sméagol followed, careful not to drop the eggs. 


	3. Others

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Title:It Could Have Been  
  
Author:Nellas Seregon  
  
Chapter Three: Others  
  
Rating: R, for dark themes (just to be safe)  
  
*Standard Disclaimer Applies*  
  
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Years passed, and Sméagol eventually had to interact with other children besides Déagol. Sméagol was ten, and had yet to venture beyond his grandmother's land. He never saw his father, but heard news of his remarrying. Sméagol only shuffled off to the river when he heard, eyes and head cast down.  
  
His grandmother hauled him into town, to the open air market that occured every weekend. It was the first of the month*, and all the best goods usually came then.  
  
"But I don't wanna go! I never do anything!" Sméagol whined, pulling on his grandmother's sleeve. Iris only smiled down at him.  
  
"Well if ya never get outside, you'll end up pale as the birch, and very unlearn-ed. Besides, you need to get to know some children your age. It won't do ya any good to hover around an old lady like me all day"  
  
"But I don't like it here. I always end up falling down"  
  
"Well, y're old enough t'keep yourself upright. Go off and find somethin' that you like. If ya really want it, I'll buy it for ya. Does that sound like a deal, Sméagol?"  
  
Sméagol folded his arms and grunted.  
  
"I suppose."  
  
He burst out into a small smile, and went off to a cart of books, nimble hands sorting through to see what the merchant had.  
  
Another Anduin hobbit child was wandering along the same path, along with a few of his friends. Sméagol looked up; this boy was familar to him. The boy's name was Isil, after the supposed king who'd died nearby many centuries before. He constantly bullied Sméagol whenever he saw him. Of course, no one belived Sméagol when he tried to get it to stop, because that was not Isil's reputation amongst the adults.  
  
Sméagol placed a book down and sighed.  
  
"What do you want, Isil?"  
  
"Well, if it isn't Sméagol the abandoned."  
  
"Hush up, Isil," Sméagol countered, sorting through books again.  
  
"Ooh, look, he's angry. Whaddya gonna do, fight?" Isil taunted, pushing Sméagol to the ground. Sméagol's head connected with the cobblestone road, leaving a nasty gash. Sméagol stood and strained to keep from crying.  
  
"Look, I didn't do anything, so just leave me alone"  
  
"Here he goes again" Isil spoke, pushing Sméagol down again. The smaller Anduin hobbit's head connected with the street again, leaving another gash.  
  
Before Sméagol could get up, he skittered across the road from the force of a kick. Clattering footsteps signaled that the other boys were approaching him again, but he could do nothing.  
  
Another kick landed square across his chest, and there was an audible crack, at least to Sméagol. A barrage of blows landed upon Sméagol's frail being, leaving gouges and blood.  
  
Sméagol faded in and out of conciousness, only kept concious by the sound of clattering footsteps and fleeing hobbit children.  
  
His grandmother helped him off the sidewalk, and then held him by the shoulders.  
  
"Who did this?"  
  
"Isil, and his friends" Sméagol choked out, holding back a flood of tears.  
  
There was a burble of chatter at this, but Iris ignored it.  
  
"I see. What d'you have in your hands?"  
  
Sméagol loosed his grip on a small leatherbound book, the title, "Plant life on the Anduin". Iris smiled.  
  
"Would you like this book?"  
  
Sméagol nodded, a few tears dripping down his face. Iris paid the merchant, and scooped Sméagol up in her arms.  
  
-*-  
  
Sméagol winced at the salve that his grandmother applied to his wounds. She was currently tending to one on his arm.  
  
"Ow!" he yelled, pulling back the arm, "that hurt!"  
  
"If I don't put this on, it'll hurt even worse. Stay still"  
  
Sméagol muttered to himself, letting out a soft hiss as the salve was applied.  
  
-*-  
  
When Sméagol was suffiecently bandaged, he ventured to his place of solitude; the banks of the Anduin. His grandmother's land reached just beyond the shore.  
  
To Sméagol's surprise, he found a hobbit girl, about his age, sitting in his usual spot. He meant to question her, but he was too exhausted and simply sat down beside her.  
  
"What 'appened to you?"  
  
Sméagol turned to face the girl, who was staring at him inquizitively.  
  
" I got beaten by Isil, if you know who that is."  
  
The girl groaned and shook her head, sending her long, dark hair waving in the lazy breeze.  
  
"He's my brother. I told him to leave you alone"  
  
Sméagol sat a little straighter.  
  
"You did?"  
  
"He doesn't listen though, to anyone. I'm sorry"  
  
Sméagol shrugged, wincing at the pain it brought him.  
  
"It's not surprising."  
  
"I'm Anya. What's your name?"  
  
"Sméagol" he replied.  
  
"Well then, Sméagol, I believe this is the start of a friendship"  
  
Sméagol was hesitant. Déagol was the only other 'friend' he had, but he was his cousin.  
  
"Um, sure"  
  
Sunlight danced across the surface of the Anduin, brightening the green alge on the slick rocks.  
  
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*Hobbit months are all 30 days long and start on Fridays(from the appedicies of LOTR) 


	4. Learn Something New

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Title:It Could Have Been  
  
Author:Nellas Seregon  
  
Chapter Four: Learn Something New  
  
Rating: R, for dark themes (just to be safe)  
  
*Standard Disclaimer Applies*  
  
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During the passing years, Sméagol and Anya became very close friends. Anya had given Sméagol a few books about the roots of things, usually local families. These he devoured, for he was forever interested in the roots of things. When his grandmother couldn't teach him something, he went to his books.  
  
Or Anya.  
  
Anya was quite different than many of the other hobbit girls. For one thing, she would've been more at home in the mountains, or the Shire, not on the river Anduin. She had no Stoor blood in her, but was a mix of the other two breeds. She was a foundling, abandoned on the roadside and raised by Isil's parents. Adding to her 'problems' was her very un-feminine attitude. She liked being friends with the boys more than the girls, and hated the fact that she wasn't allowed to wear pants, like the men were.  
  
When Sméagol turned thirteen, one of the elders of the town turned one-hundred-eleven. This age was respectable as old, much like a fifty-year-old man would be considered old(respectively) by his peers. There was drink and song, and colorful stories. This particular hobbit was very well known, and particuarly wealthy;for he lived in a well-kept hole, proper for such a hobbit; so it made sense for the old fellow to throw such a big party.  
  
Sméagol wandered around, trying to avoid the more inebreated men. He spied his father conversing with someone, and his heart caught in his throat. He'd not talked to the man in over ten years, dare he speak to him now?  
  
Gathering up his courage, he made his way through the crowd. Faint memories crept across his mind; the absence of tears from his eyes when Sméagol's mother died, never visiting, never talking; and he hoped that his voice wouldn't catch in his throat.  
  
"Excuse me..um, Father?"  
  
Keron turned around, his smile instantly turning to a frown at the sight of his son.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
Sméagol felt his eyes glisten with tears, but willed his heart to harden to the pain.  
  
"I just wished to say hello."  
  
"Fine then. You've done so, now leave"  
  
Sméagol took a deep breath and looked his father in the eye.  
  
"You bastard. I hope you are sentenced to doom for eternity." he hissed, then stormed off to a quieter area; not his sanctuary, but much like it. He had been sitting there a while, the sounds of the party long off, when Anya joined him.  
  
"You alright?"  
  
Sméagol picked up a stone and threw it into the pond.  
  
"I suppose.." his voice strained momentarily with the effort of another throw. Anya sighed and sat down.  
  
"Did you get beaten again?" she asked. Sméagol narrowed his eyes and threw another stone. His fingers glanced a bruise from a beating Isil had given him only the week before.  
  
"No"  
  
"Did you get hurt?"  
  
"No"  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Nothing"  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I don't need to tell you, damn it!" he yelled, standing and throwing another stone forcefully into the water. Anya's eyes widened, then saddened.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that bad..."  
  
Sméagol crossed his arms and turned away from her.  
  
"Well, you shouldn't be so nosey. My business is my own."  
  
Thud.  
  
Sméagol pushed himself off the ground, glaring at Anya.  
  
"What the hell was that for?"  
  
"I'm trying to be nice! Iluvatar curse me for trying to help someone for once"  
  
Sméagol bit his lip. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. He'd never before, not to his knowledge.  
  
"I'm sorry...forgive me, I was mad."  
  
Anya turned around.  
  
"I will. But what happened?"  
  
"I...can't tell you. It hurts"  
  
Anya closed her eyes and sighed.  
  
"You just had to say that in the first place" she spoke, giving Sméagol a hug.  
  
"I hope that makes you feel better" she spoke, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She turned and left, but not before Sméagol noticed.  
  
The crowd cheered as the elder's speech ended(or began, Sméagol didn't know which). Sméagol went to find his grandmother, to tell her he was going home.  
  
The air was rich with the smell of heather and cool, running water, a combonation that soothed the mind. 


	5. Taking A Stand

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Title:It Could Have Been  
  
Author:Nellas Seregon  
  
Chapter Five: Taking A Stand  
  
Rating: R, for dark themes (just to be safe)  
  
*Standard Disclaimer Applies*  
  
+This chapter is dedicated to Danny Barefoot, my wonderful reviewer! Read 'Hungry Ghosts'!+  
  
*If anyone can tell me off the top of thier head what this flower is called, you would be a great help  
  
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Sméagol sighed. It had been four years since he had last seen his father, despite Sméagol's repeated attempts. Eventually, his father had struck him, and sent him away.  
  
"Hey"  
  
Sméagol turned his head to see Déagol, displaying a sad look on his face.  
  
"What do you want?" Sméagol asked, his voice bitter. Déagol had grown used to this; after all, it was that time of the year.  
  
"How long has she been gone?"  
  
"Fifteen years; shame that she didn't know what a bastard my father was"  
  
"Now, now, that's no way to talk about my father"  
  
Both hobbit boys looked up to see Pim, Keron's son from the man's current marrige. Pim was but two years younger than the boys, but still managed to be a pain. He often taunted Sméagol  
  
"What do you want?" Sméagol spoke, standing up from his mother's grave. He was not as strong as most boys, but he had learned to defend himself over the course of his youth.  
  
"Only to pay my respects to this...wretched woman" Pim smirked.  
  
Anger rose within Sméagol, and he tried his best to quell it. He knew Pim wanted a fight, but he would not give him one; not on his mother's grave.  
  
Déagol could see the anger rising in his friends eyes. He gave Sméagol a reassuring touch on the shoulder.  
  
"Don't fight 'im. 'e's not worth it"  
  
Pim walked towards Lanai's grave, and Déagol held back his cousin from pummeling the other boy. Pim stood above it, shook his head, then spit on the grave.  
  
This was too much for Sméagol. He burst from his restraints and caught the boy with a fist, knocking him to the ground. Sméagol scrambled after Pim, kicking and thrashing.  
  
"Don't you ever," blows to the abdomen, "ever," blows to the head, "treat my mother like that! She was a good woman, and not a whore like your mother, Pim!"  
  
Pim's eyes narrowed to slits.  
  
"My mother," he panted, "is no whore"  
  
"Really?"  
  
The look on Sméagol's face was smug.  
  
"Then how come Déagol 'n I 've seen her talkin' softly to the younger Stoors, eh?"  
  
Pim growled.  
  
"She is no whore"  
  
"And neither was mine! It is no fault of my own that my father couldn't keep it in his pants, you filthy bastard!"  
  
Pim turned on his heel and left. Déagol smiled.  
  
"Well, I guess that solves it, eh?"  
  
Sméagol turned back to his mother's grave.  
  
"I am sorry, mother," his voice was a murmur, "that you had to hear me speak like Pim. Forgive me"  
  
The truth was, Sméagol sometimes thought of getting rid of Pim for good, his father too; to wring the fellow's neck until he stopped squirming.   
  
But that was lunacy, in such a community, and his thoughts of this soon halted.  
  
-*-  
  
Anya entered the clearing sometime later, bearing a single white flower*.  
  
"A traveler from Rohan gave it to me," she spoke softly as she approached the grave, where by Sméagol still sat.  
  
"I figured it appropriate for your mother"  
  
Sméagol took the flower and placed it on the grave.  
  
"Thanks"  
  
There was a long silence, broken only by the sounds of nature.  
  
"You're bruised and bleeding. Care to explain why?"  
  
Sméagol scoffed.  
  
"You'll find out soon enough" he spoke. Anya nodded.  
  
"I understand. Here, I've brought you another book"  
  
Anya placed it down beside Sméagol and left.  
  
-*-  
  
Only after the sun had begun to fade did Sméagol pick up the book and actually look at it. Looping Elvish script decorated the spine; Anya had told him she could read Elvish, though speak it she could not.  
  
The text was in Common tongue, though, and of the roots of the peoples of Middle-Earth. Sméagol leafed through the pages, groaning slightly wherever he found elvish text. Anya would have to translate it for him.  
  
The sun finally slipped behind the Misty Mountains, taking warmth and light, forcing Sméagol to return home.  
  
-*-  
  
When he arrived home, no one was there. He expected this; his grandmother acted as a midwife when a proper one could not be reached.  
  
Sméagol slipped into the chair by the hearth and let the dying embers of the fire illuminate the room as he let sleep take him. 


	6. Weakness Shows

* * *

Title:It Could Have Been  
  
Author: Pippin-kun  
  
Chapter Six: Weakness Shows...  
  
Rating: R, for dark themes (just to be safe)  
  
Standard Disclaimer Applies  
  
Author Blurb: I feel like writing fluff, but I've not let much of Sméagol's weakness show; I've just been building him up, and then how could the Ring take him? So, sorry, guess that means no more fluff(if there was any before). Oh, and I'm going with pieces of gold for currency; I don't know what the hobbits use! And even though it seems like something's gonna happen at the end of this chapter...it's not. But when it does, It'll paralell that scene.

* * *

Five years quickly passed without much incident, and Sméagol began his 'tweens'. But always, he kept his head and eyes down, forever interested in the roots of things.  
  
Sméagol once again stood by the river, just staring off without worry. Anya clapped her hand down on his shoulder, making him jump.  
  
"What was _that_ for?" he yelled. Anya looked cross. She held up a tattered book.  
  
"Mind explaining _this_?"  
  
"I dropped it" Sméagol replied cooly. His teens had shown him to be aloof and quite fond of stealing; his friendship with Anya had begun to deteriorate; only Déagol remained true, perhaps because he stalwartly defended his cousin.  
  
"Dropped it? The cover is ripped to _shreds_! Did you leave it in the rain?"  
  
Sméagol thought. Yes, by mistake, he'd left it outside, and then only noticed when he stepped on the cover. The rain had ballooned the cover, and when he ran a hand over it, it fell apart.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Anya stifled a groan.  
  
"Forget it. I'm going home; don't expect to get any more books from me"  
  
Anya walked off. Sméagol knew that she would come back, perhaps in a week, still mad, but willing to teach him, since he so often neglected his studies.  
  
Still...a small part of him, the child part, wanted to apolgize. The older, more mature he, said _no_. Anya _shouldn't_ have trusted the book to him when she **knew** it would get ruined.

* * *

Just as the sun set, Sméagol made his way home. He was eager to go out on the town, as it were, and knew where his grandmother kept her spare money.  
  
His nimble fingers pushed aside the clothes which covered a small hatch, then lifted a small bag of coins and slipped them into his pocket. Silent as he could, he put everything back in order, and left the smial.

* * *

Déagol, who did not go out with Sméagol the night prior, knocked on the door of the home the next day, holding a fishing pole. A broad smile was on his face.  
  
"Come on! It's a warm day; what do you say to fishin', Sméagol?"  
  
The older hobbit looked back to a family tree of all the residents near Gladden Fields, barely started. A slight smile passed his lips.  
  
"I suppose. I do need to get out once in a while, now don't I?" 


	7. Under The Night Sky

**------------------------  
  
**_**Title:It Could Have Been  
  
Author: Pippin-kun  
  
Chapter Seven: Under The Night Sky  
  
Rating: R, for dark themes (just to be safe)**_  
  
Fluff in this chapter! No, not dark fluff_...-imagines a pitch black plot bunnie with pink on the edges of the fur, and laughs-  
_  
** Standard Disclaimer Applies**  
  
_Review response: Hello again Danny! Yes, that line is supposed to give you that feeling that he's splitting personalities already. Thank you so much for review _Talking_! That was so fun to write, and it adressed a question that's always been in my mind. This is the chapter before...well, you'll see. I am going to add a bit thanks to your suggestion about his father.  
  
(if you haven't calculated Sméagol's age; he's 32 here, turning 33 the next day. That's when a hobbit comes of age)_  
  
------------------------  
  
Fishing was always one of the things that truly let Sméagol relax. He, being mischevious and prone to trouble, could sit on that boat and wait all day, not catch a thing, and be happy.  
  
Of course, Déagol probably enjoyed it more. Déagol always managed, somehow, to get Sméagol out of the house and down to the river. Even though the two were nearing the end of their tweens, they behaved like excited little children if one caught something.  
  
Often, Sméagol would leave the boat and walk around on the shore. He smiled as Déagol tried to grab his attention, then fall out of the boat. Then Déagol would come back up, swim to the shore, and splash Sméagol for laughing. All in jest...all in jest.  
  
And in the passing eleven years, Sméagol and Anya grew almost closer; but she always would push away. Their friendship could not be salvaged; it was beyond reach.  
  
"Hey there, Sméagol"  
  
The aforementioned turned around to see Anya. The night sky was dark behing her, and the stars glittered in the pure air.  
  
"Oh, hi" he answered, vacant. Unrest, hatred for self was forever growing in him; Men would call it weakness of will.  
  
Anya sat down next to him, and sighed deeply.  
  
"Your birthday's tommorw, isn't it?"  
  
Sméagol looked surprised.  
  
"You remembered?"  
  
Anya laughed softly.  
  
"Yes, I did. Just because we're not friends doesn't mean I'll forget your birthday, Sméagol."  
  
Years of bitterness melted away, and for that brief moment, they were friends again. Yet something groped at Sméagol's heart, and he felt frightened.  
  
"Anya?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Um..." he shifted around, as if he were going to ask an embarrassing question.  
  
"Go on"  
  
"May I...what I _mean_ to say is..."  
  
Anya tried to figure out what her 'friend' was trying to say.  
  
"Well, what do you mean to say?"  
  
"Would you mind if, if I asked you to sit with me here..you know...?"  
  
A warm smile lit Anya's face. She knew what he meant.  
  
"I don't see why not."  
  
And the two friends sat together under the clear, sparkling night sky.


	8. A Fine Day For Fishing

**_Title:It Could Have Been  
  
Author: Pippin-kun  
  
Chapter Eight; A fine day for fishing.  
  
Rating: R, for dark themes (just to be safe)_**

**__**  
**_Author's Notes;_** I believe I'm ending the story here...if you want a sequel, tell me. I just need to finish all that I can up here. I've loved writing this story, but...I can only go so far in my quest to answer quieres that I'll never have the answers to.

This last chapter is dedicated to every author out there, published or not, and especially Professor Tolkien, whose immensly beautiful world was realized mentally before the rest of the world got the chance to experience it. He has gifted us with wise men, common heros, laughter, and a light lit in every soul, with the hopes that we too may one day set foot on the shores of Arda, and drink in the beauty and joy, even in the scarred grounds of the healing Shire, until Illuvatar's gift comes close, and we see the grey rain curtain of the world roll back, and all turn to silver glass; and mortal eyes will finally see the white shores, green, rolling hills, and the swift sunrise that rolls across Valinor.  
And in that moment, I shall not be afraid.  
-PippinKun

**Standard Disclaimer Applies**

* * *

"Sméagol? Sméagol? Come on, Sméag, it can't take you_ that_ long to find a fishing pol-" 

"Got it! Come on, Déagol; do you want to fish or not?"

Laughter followed the two friends all the way down to the river.

"Thirty-three...of all those I know. Congradulations, Sméagol."

"It's not that different; I still feel like I did when I turned thirty-two. Why such a difference?"

Déagol shrugged.

"No clue..none at all. Tradition, I suppose. Got that whole mess when I came of age too."

"I know; it was last month"

The two were laughing again.

The day was serene, and sunlight streamed through the foliage, casting a muted light on whatever crossed the river, be it pilgriming leaf or being of flesh. For those hours, the two of-age Stoors reveled in being absolutely childlike. They talked of the promises they'd made; the secrets they kept from family. All very juvinile; things like snatching crumbs from the baker. No, it wasn't kind, but it wasn't harmful; the birds would eat it otherwise.

"Sméag, the fish aren't biting. What say you to going up to Gladden Fields? I hear there are big ones, the size of Old Tomagee" Déagol stretched his arms wide to simulate the size of the portly old hobbit he spoke of.

"Sure...it is kind of far; what if we don't make it back by sundown?"

"Why are you worrying about that? That's usually me. Sméagol, we'll be back before supper, I promise."  
---  
It happened so fast, Sméagol hadn't been able to discern it until later. One moment Déagol was in the boat, the next; as Sméagol saw it from the shore, he fell in, pulled by a giant fish. Sméagol stood on the shoreline, ready to jump in to save his cousin.

But it wasn't nessecary; Déagol surfaced close to the shore, and Sméagol pulled him onto the land. The other Stoor coughed and sputtered, one hand closed tightly in a fist. Sméagol brushed himself off and slowly walked up behind Déagol, who was staring intently at something in his hand.

A gold band. Nothing extrodinary about that.

Yet all of Sméagol wanted it; to the pit of his very bones he ached for that.

"Give that to us, Déagol, my love" Sméagol spoke. Déagol looked at him and turned around.

"Why?"

"Because, it's my birthday, love, and I wants it"

"I already gave you a present, and it was more than I could afford. This is mine; I'm keeping it"

"That you are..." Sméagol hissed under his breath, lunging for his friend's throat like a creature possessed. The gold band fell to the grass as the two wrestled. Finally, after much struggle, Sméagol's soft grip latched tightly onto Déagol's neck and squeezed tighter and tighter, until...he ceased moving.

Utter shock bloomed on Sméagol's face. Oh...Elbereth...he had killed..had killed Déagol. What would happen now? He was already a social outcast, if someon-

The thought never finished. That gold band, that ring, it caught his attention. He even, on brink of madness he supposed, heard the band whispering his name. He lifted it up and placed it on his palm, stroking it like a bird.

"My...preciousss...."  
---  
Déagol was buried quickly and discreetly, and so well that he was just thought to have gone missing. A new, wicked part of Sméagol enjoyed the fact that no one knew he had done it. It gave him a feeling of...power, almost. It was this new part that seemed to tell Sméagol to try on that shiny ring he'd found. To the joy of the ever-growing wickedness, this ring made Sméagol invisible, though the dark blue, odd looking world he traveled through was a bit disturbing, it never affected Sméagol.

For seven years, Sméagol grew into more of a villain. He stole from his grandmother, he lifted books from carts and never returned them. An odd noise began to come out, like a mangled sob, from his throat. Frequently, he would beat people like Isil, and try to look in on young lady Stoors while they were changing clothing. 

But it took nigh on a decade for Sméagol to realize that he could do something he'd never been able to do before. That idea that he'd thought insanity years before.

And now he could.  
---  
The home was quiet, in those wee hours of the night. Sméagol quietly picked the simple lock and crept inside, quickly slipping on that ring. Temptation rose within him to do away with Pim and the whore of a mother Pim had but, '_no'_, his mind said, _'more pressing matters to deal with'_.

Keron was awake, if just barely, in his study, poring over various books and scrolls. He moved to write something new now and again, and generally wasn't paying much attention.

_Perfect._

Sméagol crept quietly in, his hand ready on the ring. This would be most satisfying.

"Father" he called softly, waiting for Keron to look up. He did so. Sméagol slipped off the ring for a second before putting it back on. Keron rubbed his eyes.

"Bloody hell...must be the lights. Keep seeing that bastard son of mine."  
  
"Father" Sméagol called softly again, stepping closer to grab the letter opener peeking out from a pile of papers.  
  
"Who's doing that? Where are you?  
  
"Your bastard son. And right here."  
  
Sméagol jammed the letter opener directly into Keron's jugular vein. The Stoor grabbed it in panic. Unbeknownst to the bleeding hobbit, his son smirked.  
  
"It's been years since I first thought of doing that to you. Now I had the means. Good-bye, father."  
  
Sméagol turned and left, waiting until he was outside the door to slip off the ring.  
  
"That was more fun that _w_...I thought."  
---  
The next day, Sméagol's grandmother woke him by roughly shaking him.  
  
"Sméagol, Sméagol, get up, you louse!"  
  
That startled him.  
  
"Grandma?"  
  
"Out, you thieving snake. I know what you've done; you've often talked in your sleep recently."  
  
"But, I...what?"  
  
"Out, you cursed, lying snake, you...you gollum!"  
  
Sméagol panicked and did what came instinctively; he ran, fled for the roots of the mountains. His grandmother chased him out of the smial, and his hand smeared the almost complete genealogical tree of most of the families living nearby.  
  
"You gollum! Treacherous, murdering cur! Flee and die in the cold of the mountain!"  
---  
He did so; though not immediatley. It was rough foraging for his own food, and his own water. The sun and moon ravaged him, and he sought deeper places that the surfaces of the Misty Mountains.

But that was not before another came to stay. Gollum, he called himself, and helped Sméagol. Slowly, whether through time or trickery of that cursed hunk of gold, Sméagol forgot of the pleasure of bread, of the sun, of the outside world, even his true name. Five hundred years of life that ring granted him, for it was the One Ring, forged long ago by a dark lord who stands nameless to our generation. It warped him terribly; he became more orc than hobbit creature, and all his words were cruel and gutteral. Always, his love was for the Ring, the foul thing that had destroyed so much of his life. He spoke to it, and himself, as 'precious', and whether another was around or not, he refered to himself as we. 

Nothing more ever became of him, until a day in the Third Age of Arda, which your men call Middle-Earth, when a creature much like what Gollum had been fled from the goblins and found himself faced with a game of riddles in the dark.

* * *

. 

I think I ended that quite nicely. I apolgize to everyone who didn't want this to end, but...as I said, I can only go so far with this before I intrude on what's already written.  
Someone may be wondering why I didn't write the Ring finding scene verbatim from the books; well...I'm trying to see all this through Sméagol's eyes; that's how I imagine he saw the scene.

What I said in the begining; the 'I shall not be afraid' part i've heard before; not sure where. If it seems odd...my bad, to use urban slang.

_So there we are; the ending to the history of Gollum/Sméagol. My part in this tale is complete; you will see me, or what my spirit takes form as, beside Frodo in the vast libraries in Eldamar, or dashing through those blessed forests in Valinor as a young fox, searching for Nienna_

_  
I leave you now with greater understanding._


End file.
